Flipped Switch (In The Depths remix)
by Maribor
Summary: I always enjoy Bad-Ass Mary and I wanted to even play with the idea that maybe she's smarter than Sherlock, or at the very least as smart. I could just imagine her in a situation like this getting frustrated with having to explain every little thing to him and waiting for him to catch up. I just really liked the idea of Mary in complete control. Mary!Lock Awaits! Gun play. DubCon


_So I participated in the Remix-Redux 11 this year and I had an absolute ball! Now that the assignments and names have been revealed I decided to post them on here as well as AO3._

Inspired by **In the Depths** by ariadnes_string.

In response to a prompt by ariadnes_string in the remixmadness2014 collection. You can find her original story on AO3!

* * *

**Flipped Switch (In The Depths remix)**

_1.84 meters tall._

_79 kilograms._

_Chloroform soaked rag held over mouth and nose then reapplied some ten minutes later. Long enough to strip him, interrogate and strip her and place them both in...wherever the hell they were now._

These were the facts, the bare bones, the bullet points of the situation. She always thought in bullet points. It did away with unnecessary clutter.

His weight. His height. His physical makeup and overall health meant that he should be coming round by now. She shifted her position and observed him, her face mostly blank with only slight traces of impatience.

The good news was she'd seen this coming, she'd made sure John had taken Hanna on a day trip to the country. She was supposed to meet them but the note she'd sent ahead to the bed and breakfast hours before they even left mentioned unexpected troubles with a friend regarding a recent breakup. Tea, consolation, tears, hugs all that sort of business that put men off and made their eyes glaze over. Mary had fully intended to be dining with her husband and daughter this evening but plans had changed. Her plans had not included a surprise pop-by, by Sherlock Holmes. A meeting spoiled by him turned into an ambush then a hostage situation and then a kidnapping and here they were. That was the bad news, made all the worse because she was stuck with Sherlock and truth be told he could be a bit slow. She's have to allow him time to catch up...but not too much time. If she did this right she could still make dessert if not dinner with her family.

He groaned, reached for his head and let his hand fall again. he was trying to piece together where they were, realizing he wasn't alone, accepting the fact that he was naked and trying to clear his head to determine who had done this. She wanted to rush him along but she knew that wouldn't help matters so instead she answered his queries as patiently as possible.

Yes, they were her enemies, not his.

Yes, John and Hanna are fine.

Yes, you were drugged.

He was still cold, sluggish and struggling to make sense of things and the nurse in her knew he should be in a bed somewhere resting and recuperating. But there was no time for such a luxury now. She helped him to his feet, one arm around his shoulders while her other hand hung at her side, her fingernails digging into her palm.

This was taking too long.

It was taking too long.

_It was taking too long._

The nails drawing a bit of blood helped to quiet her tongue.

It wasn't that she didn't like him, quite the contrary, she thought Sherlock was a fascinating and amazing man. Funny, kind, forgiving and capable of incredible shows of loyalty and love.

But...the switch had been flipped.

She'd called it "the switch" since the early days. Her training had taught her that to be good at her job she needed to be able to turn off everything. Everything that didn't lead her from point A to point B, everything that didn't propel her towards an exit or a conclusion. Anything that got in the way of survival was to be excised, removed, terminated. Anything that wasn't helpful was a problem, a nuisance, a hindrance. She had calculated how this needed to go and it would go much quicker if Sherlock kept his mouth shut and did exactly as she demanded. When the switch was flipped her patience was nonexistent, all that mattered was the endgame and he would do well to just fall in line.

The sound of the gun sliding across the floor set all her senses on edge.

Beretta. 92F. Recently fired from the faint whiff of gunpowder.

There were four likely scenarios and she mulled them over quickly as Sherlock was likely still determining what series the weapon was.

After a few seconds it became obvious, their lack of clothes leaving little doubt. Still, she was about to venture forward with what she knew was the least likely option when Sherlock spoke.

"No, I won't do that to her."

She'd nearly laughed at both his odd chivalry and the sluggishness of his intellect. I won't do that to her as opposed to I won't do that. So he had forgiven her then. Truly and completely.

The voice replied as she knew it would confirming what she had already assumed. The weapon was not for murder.

So it was one of those. She'd been through this before. The first time...God, but she'd been young then, it had shocked her. Her body after all was never part of the game, this was about life and death, money, power, weakness; all the things that made the world turn. But sex? It was so miniscule, so small time, so pathetic. She hadn't been offended then just disappointed, disappointed that the true action had to stop for a hastily cobbled together sex scene from a cheap spy novel. But she'd sighed and agreed to whatever perversion had been required, it was so long ago she could barely remember. The person who'd requested it while laughing like a B-Grade James Bond villain knockoff didn't remember it either as she'd poisoned him with cyanide a few hours later. Years later and she still felt much the same as she observed the gun. This was just another roadblock, a boring segue gumming up the works of the real game.

He didn't expect the shove and nearly landed face down on the floor but she had little time for please and thank you.

She could only hope Sherlock wouldn't be silly about this. If she could switch places with him she would gladly. A few moans, a shivered orgasm and they'd be on their way. But that was, of course, why she wasn't chosen. It could be too easily faked with her. But not with him.

She'd rather be running, fighting, climbing, jumping, shooting, anything that kept the adrenaline flowing. But not this, this was just so interminably boring.

As she predicted Sherlock was still a few steps behind, part of that was the drugs, part of it was his wits. Poor fellow. Maybe if she just went about this quickly they could get it over and done with.

He didn't understand when she held him to the floor with her foot and he really didn't understand when she unloaded the gun. His body went rigid as she took the weapon, newly wet with her saliva and began to slowly press it against his entrance.

"What are you doing?" he rasped. His voice was thick as though he'd just woken from a deep and restful sleep.

"You've heard of the price of admission? This, my friend, is the price of departure. It'll be over soon." She said flatly. "Just relax and think of...well, whatever it is that you think off."

At his full strength he would have had a better chance at throwing her off his body but as weak as he was he couldn't put up much of a fight.

Just as she thought she might be making a bit of headway the disembodied voice spoke.

"I think we both know that's not what I intended, Mary. I want it to be real and I want him to enjoy it."

Enjoy it. You want him to enjoy being pistol fucked? She thought but didn't say. It was ridiculous but then again the higher the position held the creepier the peccadilloes and predilections tended to be. She sighed and pulled the weapon back. She heard Sherlock breath a sigh of relief and she disappeared briefly into her own thoughts as she did her best to piece together how to make this work.

Sitting down against the stone cold wall she leaned her head back running through the list of people in her head. Even though she chastised herself for wasting time she did it anyway.

Lestrade X No, Sherlock could barely recall his name.

Molly X No, that was one sided.

Sally ? Obviously their backstory was of a failed romance so she was a slight possibility.

Mycroft X The Holmes boys had their oddities but she didn't believe incest was one of them.

John ✓

It was of course John. It was always John. And with another sigh she raised her head and made eye contact with Sherlock Holmes.

She'd expected the anger, the distrust, the embarrassment and shame but there was something there she didn't expect.

Disbelief.

Now, she realized it wasn't that he hadn't been able to figure out this is what was meant to happen, it's that he couldn't conceive of it. For all his bluster, for all his claims of darkness and solitude, Sherlock Holmes was a frightened little boy. He'd seen the grit and grime of the world, he'd pulled criminals from it and thrown them in prison. But he had never descended fully into it himself. he couldn't conceive of a mind who would do this, need this, require this.

From then on Mary decided it was best to avoid looking him in the eyes. She hadn't expected to see that level of naked innocence there and she didn't want to see it again. She couldn't afford for the switch to be flipped back on.

Mary did her best to work a touch of softness into her tone, a softness that wasn't entirely false.

"Sherlock...I know you don't understand this but you do understand no win situations." Shrugging her shoulders she affected a defeated posture. "This is one of them. If we do what he wants we have a shot of making it out of here. I wish I had another option." She said glancing at the seamless wall where she knew those eyes were watching them. "But I don't. All I have for us is a chance. Now..."

She reached out her hand to him beckoning that he come to her. "Please, come here."

He didn't take her hand but after what felt like a long stretch of minutes he did move closer. He pressed his back against the wall beside her, his face no doubt what he considered to be blank and readable. But she knew what he was thinking. She knew he was trying to determine the weaknesses of the room, the real motives behind this game their captors wanted to play and most importantly, how to get out of it. But each time he arrived where she always knew he would. There was no other way out.

"Ready?" She asked quietly.

He only nodded in reply.

Moving between his legs she silently encouraged him to bring his knees up. He obliged, again wordlessly and though a spark of camaraderie in this mess would have been welcomed she could make do with mute obedience.

Leaning in towards him, she surprised him with a kiss to the cheek.

"I'm going to tell you a story now." She began quietly as he fingers found his flaccid penis. He stiffened and not in a good way but she didn't retreat. Instead she pressed her body firmly against his, cheek to cheek as she whispered in his ear.

"I don't sleep much, I never have. So I'm often reading in bed long after John has drifted off." She licked her lips, lowering her voice further as she spoke quietly into his ear. "Sometimes I'll watch him and almost without fail he does the same thing nearly every night. Would you like to know what it is?"

Sherlock gave a nearly imperceptible nod, so slight were her senses not so acute she might have believed she imagined it.

She continued stroking his cock for a few final moments before removing her hand. She licked her finger quickly before returning her palm to his body and gracefully she let it trail down, over his balls until she nestled a finger between his cheeks. As she sought out his hole she felt him tense against her. That was to be expected, she'd just be as gentle as she could.

"He says your name. At first it's with a sort of teasing irritation. But then, a moment later it's with a groan. Just a soft, lusty little groan that inevitably makes me put down my book and watch the show. His toes curl and then ever so slowly that sheet starts to rise."

As she massaged his hole lightly with the pad of her finger slowly by degrees Mary felt him relax as he drifted into the story.

"Have you ever seen John's cock? Probably not but surely you've imagined it. It's big, Sherlock. No Napoleon syndrome with my husband."

She slipped a finger inside of him and slowly but surely he allowed it. His heart rate had increased and she could feel it pounding against her. His was breathing heavily but steadily and as she thrust inside him she decided to let him marinate in his fantasy for a bit longer.

When he appeared as ready as he would ever be she delicately removed her finger and picking up the gun started rubbing across his skin. He froze, the welcomed intrusion of the finger more than likely having allowed him to momentarily forget that it was simply the opening act...literally and figuratively. She warmed the metal against the flesh of his inner thigh, trailing it across his leg. Spitting into her hand as quickly as she could she coated the barrel and let it rest at his entrance where her finger had recently been.

"I watch him as he lying there." She continues. "He starts to squirm after a moment and by then his cock has basically tented the sheets. But you know what?" She pauses and waits, fighting against the resistance the weapon is encountering. He's trying, trying to stay in the fantasy, trying to live in her words but she can see how much it's hurting him. She spits again, trying to ease the pain.

"What?" He asks, his voice raw and ragged and she realizes he is keenly aware of everything going on, not simply the physical discomfort.

"He never reaches to touch himself. I used to wonder why, why didn't he wrap his hand around himself? It took awhile to realize that it was because you were doing it. In his mind, in his dream, you were there..."

The gun slipped in easier now and she softly cooed her approval in his ear before going on.

"...riding him, sucking him, maybe even fucking him from behind. If he'd touched himself it would have broken the illusion, you see. Oh, Sherlock, he wants you so, so badly."

He moaned softly against her and she worked the hard steel a bit farther inside him. He clenched down on it and she felt it move ever so slightly in her hand.

"How is it that you want him, Sherlock? Moaning and shivering beneath you? His legs on your shoulders, begging you to keep going, slow down, speed up. Or do you want him inside you? You on all fours, sweating, pleading, your arse in the air as my husband pounds into you, his hands gripping your hips."

He started to swear under his breath but abruptly cut himself off as she reached his prostate. Sherlock bit off his words, whimpering quietly. But that wasn't what shocked her. What surprised her was the hand that was suddenly raised to cradle the back of her head, the fingers that stroked her scalp, the breathy, barely audible and surprisingly yearning, "Mary."

The switch didn't flip but it did waver. That was unexpected. She had deduced on their first meeting at the restaurant, mid proposal that his feelings for John ran deep. But she hadn't for one moment thought that she in any way figured into this equation.

"Come for him, Sherlock." She hesitated before adding, "Come for me."

He held his breath for a few moments, his body tensing with effort it was taking to keep back the tide. When he finally did come his breath hissed out in a rush, a mixture of moans and surprisingly gentle whimpers.

"That's a good boy..." she said softly daring to brush her lips against his cheek. She removed the gun, keeping her body close to his. Propping it against her thigh she impulsively slipped her finger back inside of him in search of his prostate again. She toyed at it, nudging and massaging it, coaxing a second and perhaps just as strong orgasm from his weakened body. She justified it by saying he'd be no use to her if he wasn't sexually spent and clear headed. She chose not to justify the arousal she felt instead opting to ignore it. As she was holding Sherlock against her, stroking his back she clandestinely reached for the gun. Swiftly she turned her head to the side and fired at the thinnest area of the wall behind which she knew their captor was standing, ogling, most likely with his cock in his hand. That would be the way he'd die, too.

Sherlock jumped at the report and a moment later she had them both on their feet.

Time was ticking down and she didn't have time to explain things to him.

She had a vague idea of where they were and after a few seconds she was able to pull up a passable map in her head.

She'd need to figure out how to get them some clothes.

She'd need to figure out how to beat what she estimated were seven armed men headed directly for their location.

She needed to figure out if there was a way to lure Sherlock into bed with them because if they made it out of this alive that could be a tremendous amount of fun.

Her adrenaline was pumping now, she felt alert and eager and ready to play.

Finally, the game was on.

Reaching for his hand she started to tug him towards the door. Glancing back she noticed him eyeing the gun he'd assumed was empty, his face a bit white.

"No worries, the safety was on."

It wasn't.

He looked relieved and bafflingly as though he wanted to discuss what had just happened.

"Nope, no time for that, dear. I'm in a bit of a rush, I'm expected at dinner with my husband and daughter."

For a moment, just a moment, she let the mask drop and the switch flip.

"You're invited if you like." She called over her shoulder.

She hoped he got the double meaning in that.


End file.
